


Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

by Cliophilyra



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, First Kiss, M/M, Slow Dancing, Song fic, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra
Summary: At a Forces dance in a village hall. England, 1943.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Kudos: 46





	Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

**Author's Note:**

> This one is mildly annoying. I had such a strong sense of this scene and needed to write it. I actually really like it but it should be part of a longer story but I just can't think what that story is and I don't have the motivation to write it that I had for this scene. So I decided to post it as it is. So imagine a time travel scenario where Tony comes back to WW2 and meets Steve when he is in the UK on his USO tour!
> 
> Of course inspired by Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered by Rodgers & Hart - specifically the version by the great Ella Fitzgerald, which wasn’t recorded until the 50’s but we won’t mention that :)

**England, 1943.**

It’s late, the party’s over and couples and groups are stumbling out into the humid summer night, heads spinning from a potent combination of cheap beer and energetic music. Tony downs the last of his whiskey and grabs his suit jacket, throwing it over his shoulder as he turns to follow the throng. 

He stops in the doorway of the small church hall, careful not to let any light past the blackout curtain, and watches the revelers drunkenly swaying and staggering away, out into the pitch darkness of the winding English country lane. A high-pitched shriek of laughter, a burst of muffled giggling and shushing drifts over from the graveyard. 

The still air smells of honeysuckle; the flowers twine through the hedges that surround the church and frame the door of the cottage next-door. He breathes deeply, filling his lungs with warm, perfumed air. Just as he is wondering how he will find his way back to camp, music begins to play again in the room behind him. 

Without giving much thought to what he expects to find, he turns and walks back inside. His shiny shoes click on the polished parquet floor. He stops at the entrance to the room, taking in the scene. 

***

The empty dance hall has a look of the Morning After to it already. Colored paper streamers have fallen from the ceiling in places to trail across tables and through sticky puddles of spilled drinks. Empty glasses, plates and overflowing ashtrays crowd every surface and a thick layer of smoke still hangs in the air, twisting slowly. The room smells of beer, sweat and cigarettes. 

The band have carried their instrument cases and bandstands from the small stage, leaving only the old upright piano and a record player in a cream, Bakelite case, from which the music now flows. 

From behind the door that leads to the small kitchen he can hear running water and the muffled voices of the NAAFI women, beginning the thankless task of clearing up the mess. Then the door swings open heavily and there he is, looking, as always, like he just stepped out of a recruitment ad. His hair is perfect, his uniform neat, tie straight, teeth straight. He stops short and stares at Tony for a moment, blinking.

“You’re still here,” he says, smiling. 

Captain obvious, Tony thinks with a smile. He nods. “Looks like it,” he pauses. “I heard the music.” 

Steve looks surprised, as if he’s only just noticed it. “Oh. Yeah, Joyce loves this song.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “Joyce? One of Captain America’s conquests?” He doesn’t know why he says that; hates himself, and the awkward look that crosses Steve’s face at once. 

Steve shakes his head and jerks a thumb back over his shoulder. “Uh...In the kitchen. She’s the post mistress.”

Tony nods. “She’s got good taste.”

“Hm.”

They look at each other in silence while the swirling, faintly cynical refrain twists around them.

_Men are not a new sensation, I’ve done pretty well I think. But this half-pint imitation, put me on the blink..._

Tony almost laughs at that. Steve can hardly be called a half-pint anything anymore but he’s definitely got Tony on the blink. These days just sharing the same space seems to render him barely able to function.

He opens his mouth to say goodnight - time to get the hell away from beautiful things he can't have - but instead he holds out a hand and says, “Dance with me Captain?” 

Steve blinks in surprise and frowns. Tony is about to laugh it off as a joke and possibly never speak again when Steve shoots a glance back over his shoulder toward the kitchen and then looks back with a smile that is unexpectedly bold. He walks over, takes Tony’s hand and, pulling sharply, spins him unexpectedly close. Tony laughs loudly, caught off guard, and grins as Steve’s large hand presses against the small of his back. He places his own hand on Steve’s shoulder and lets himself be led as they begin to move. 

The song is slow and lazy, it moves in circles and eddies. Steve is not as confident a lead as he initially appears, he moves on hesitant feet, seeming unwilling to trust his body. Tony slowly takes over, guiding gently. Steve smiles faintly as he switches to following but he doesn’t move his hand from Tony’s back. His fingers spread wider, his touch feels possessive and it makes Tony shiver. He looks up into bright blue eyes and moves his hand slowly, sliding along Steve’s shoulder to the back of his head, pushing his fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, above the starched line of his collar. Steve’s eyes close and he pushes back into Tony’s touch almost imperceptibly. Tony is instantly aware of how they are pressed together, of the solid warmth of the larger man’s chest against his, the press of their linked fingers. 

The moment he notices these things he also notices the soft, plush line of Steve’s lips and then that is the center of his attention. His heartbeat quickens, his eyes widen and this time he is sure he sees the same look in Steve’s eyes. Well shit, this is it. Don’t fuck this up. It’s only what you’ve been wanting, with varying degrees of awareness, for your entire life. So... Don’t. Fuck it up. Like you always do. Don’t. Do that.

Thankfully, while he is having this minor freak-out Steve has evidently decided to do what he does best and take the initiative. Which is why he has leaned in and is now kissing Tony. It’s a soft kiss, slow, tentative and inexperienced but it is also definite, it is a kiss with intent behind it. Tony makes a small muffled sound of surprise as his brain catches up and gets with the programme. He opens his mouth and Steve hums a sound of relief and desire that does things to Tony’s nether regions that are probably not suitable for a church hall. He has always thought of himself as an atheist, but the fact that Captain America currently has his tongue down his throat could definitely make him re-evaluate his position. Later.

_I’m wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again..._

He presses his fingers harder into Steve’s scalp, raking short nails over his skin, drawing a shiver and a deeper groan. He grins as Steve’s tongue slides against his, teeth scraping along his lip, biting gently. When he finally pulls away he looks up to see closed eyes, slightly parted, pink lips and flushed cheeks. _I did that. To Captain fucking America._

Steve’s eyes snap open and he looks down, tiny rings of blue glowing around deep, dark pupils. He looks mildly stunned for a moment then laughs and drops his head against Tony’s shoulder. 

“Yeah you did. I’m kinda hoping that’s not all you’ll do…” 

Tony’s jaw drops. “Umm...ok...Uh, One, I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud so...yeah. And two, Jesus Christ Captain Rogers, are you trying to kill me?”

Steve doesn’t look up, His heart is hammering against Tony’s chest but his shoulders are shaking with laughter, his breath warm against Tony’s neck. Strong arms wrap around Tony’s waist, fingers trailing up and down his spine as they continue their slow, swaying movements, turning aimlessly around the floor. Tony closes his eyes and focuses on the swell of the music and the strong body pressed against his. He doesn’t do this, he thinks. He doesn’t slow dance in empty rooms. He doesn’t gaze into people’s eyes. 

Steve’s gaze lifts to Tony’s mouth again and he catches his lips with a smile, pressing softly but urgently. Tony follows, moaning softly and pushing his thigh forward, just a little too hard, between Steve’s legs. Perhaps he does do this after all.

_When he talks he is seeking, words to get off his chest. Horizontally speaking he’s at his very best..._

Steve breaks the kiss suddenly, making Tony’s heart jump. “So Mr Stark, thanks for your help tonight. Can I help you find your way back to camp?” His voice is louder than necessary and slightly breathless. He casts a significant glance over his shoulder toward the kitchen door. 

“Thank you Captain, that would be great,” Tony replies at a similar volume, rolling his eyes and smirking.

Steve grins and grabs his jacket from a table. He sticks his head into the kitchen and the two women at the sink jump away from each other guiltily. He pretends not to notice and asks if they still need him. They smile a conspiratorial smile and wave him off with a wink. The blush that stains his cheeks when he comes back fills Tony’s head with visions of shoving him up against the off-white walls and ripping that oh-so-neat uniform off him, but he grits his teeth and restrains himself, not least because there’s a distinct possibility that he couldn’t actually move him an inch, which would be embarrassing.

As they walk to the exit Steve ducks down to kiss him again, quickly. Tony stops for a second and watches him walk on ahead, still feeling the ghost of pressure against his lips. His gaze fixes on the khaki pants that cling to Steve in ways that they just don’t seem to for regular humans. Steve looks back over his shoulder with a crooked smile. It’s really not fair, someone should be held responsible for this, Tony decides as he follows after him. 

_I’ll sing to him, bring spring to him and worship the trousers that cling to him..._

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on Tumblr at [cliophilyra](https://cliophilyra.tumblr.com) Come and say hi! :)


End file.
